Page 17 of Axel Martin

“Then don’t,” I whispered back.

That’s all it took.

He kissed me like he needed to prove I was alive. Like if he didn’t feel my heartbeat under his hands, he might fall apart completely.

I kissed him back with everything I had—fear, relief, love I hadn’t dared name until now.

He pressed me into the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other tangled in my hair, our mouths pulling apart just long enough to breathe.

“Axel…” I whispered.

His forehead touched mine. “Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bedroom.

There was no storm outside tonight.

Because it was already here.

And it had finally been set free.

14

Lark

There was no fear left between us. Only fire.

Axel laid me down like I was something precious. Breakable.

I wasn’t.

But the way he looked at me—like every piece of me mattered—undid me more than any danger ever had.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, rough from years of combat, but warm and reverent. Like touching me grounded him.

I arched into him, my breath catching. “You don’t have to be gentle.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I do.”

Then his mouth found my neck, and I felt the world tilt. His lips trailed heat like a fuse, and I clung to him, wrapped my legs around his waist, and pulled him closer until I felt his control crack.

“Lark…” he groaned.

“Don’t stop.”

He stripped me slow, like he wanted to memorize everything—every scar, every breath. When he peeled my shirt away, he didn’t rush. He justlookedat me.

Like I was rare. Sacred.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

I reached for his shirt and tugged it off, my breath hitching as I took him in.

Muscles. Scars. Strength. But those eyes…

His eyes were soft. For me.

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